Honey and Cranberries
by Peridot Tears
Summary: Thalia loves the feel of cranberries, reminding her of innocence and youth; Percy enjoys honey, sweet and young...they muse, about them and each other. Slight Percy/Thalia. Two-shot.
1. Bitter

**Bitter**

_**PT: Inspiration came from recently bought maple syrup .__. Wow...my mom and brother actually bought maple syrup...wow... And cranberries, because that's the only other thing I thought of XD**_

_Disclaimer: Nope. If I did I'd, like, do something about the fics in this fandom. Too many cliche stories -shot- -sighs-_

_…0_

_When they are young, they taste sweet..._

_When there are old, they are bitter..._

…0

Her hands sink into the myriad of them, feeling their skins, cool to the touch and smooth to feel. They are strewn, thickly, across the ground, scattered like drops of ruby blood that look eerie in the wild moonlight.

The wind blows, lukewarm, through the air, cutting gently but firmly in all directions. Winds—northern, southern, western, eastern—whip her loose hair and silver clothing in all directions, blowing upwards the scent of the cranberries; their heady smell fills her senses. She inhales deeply, willing herself to postpone the moment when she will exhale. Breathing and breathing in the bittersweet scent of cranberries, her mind flooded with the dark red drops of juicy flesh.

They are small, large as her pale thumb, but filled with so much bitterness...but she knows that someday they will wrinkle, shrivel like skin always does. So young, so small—so bitter and whole. But someday they will crumple under the weight of bitterness...right from the inside...and they will all lay scattered and withering across the ground, waiting for birds to pluck them up. Remnants.

So young, so _pure._

But they will learn—someday, they will be bitter with age.

They are remnants and proxies of her—when she was young, _bitter, _and in a way so pure and sweet. When she loved and trusted...but in the world she walks, she is the largest pearl in the clam. Always and always that pearl could be so beautiful, so _meaningful—_and doomed to the world's saddest fate. Like cranberries. Like her.

She is a bitter, shriveled cranberry and her only source of solace in her time-worn pain—her agony, her despair, internally—is hidden in these youthful cranberries.

She sinks down on the ground, feeling it firm and cold, pressing against her knees, and runs another hand through the blood-red berries, comparing and contrasting to the only one she can compare it with.

Him.

The one who is the same as her—and yet so _different._

The one with the fiery—yet somehow innocent eyes that wallowed in their own naiveté—was he shriveling yet? breaking?

He is a pearl, and now the alternate pearl, the largest now. And he is not yet broken.

At that moment, she cannot stand it anymore:

Her fists, running over the sea of red, tightens like a vice around handfuls of cranberries; lifts them upward to her nose, inhaling the uncanny odor; and, neither caring nor thinking of the dirt over them, stuffs them into her mouth, teeth working.

Up, down. Up, down.

Their bitter, bitter taste, breaking through the skin, crushing the flesh...

Up, down. Up, down.

Bitter, young, still unbreakable...

Up, down. Up, down.

The feeling of them running down her throat, dirt gritty...

Up, down. Up, down.

The most bitter aftertaste—

Overwhelming.

She cannot take it anymore.

Bile rising in her throat.

Lurching forward as her insides burn; she spews them all out, sickeningly—

Thalia stares, dismayed, at the mess of loathsome red; as their remaining bitter smell rises upward, defiled, to please her nostrils.

…0

_**PT: So, how was that? AU, I guess, but if this is too confusing...basically, Thalia muses over**_ _**cranberries—they**_ _**remind her of her and Percy for a moment, and suddenly, in a moment of...insanity?...she swallows a lot of them, then throws them all up. Second part will be in Percy's point of view. Review if you can, critique is more than welcome, questions may be asked.**_


	2. Sweet

**Sweet**

_**PT: Thanks, everyone, for the reviews! They're all very much appreciated! ^^ And don't sue me for using the word "unclosed"; I suppose it's an expired part of vocabulary or something...but I like it. Found it in Uncle Tom's Cabin.**_

_Disclaimer: I don't even own Percylicious XD Okay, I'm a mod, but I didn't MAKE it..._

…0

_How can it be so sweet?_

_When it is spawned by the most fearsome of insects._

…0

His hand brings up the honey, dripping gold, on one finger to smear on his tongue.

They taste sweet, but he remembers the time he had first been stung by a bee—and he would rather not keep knowledge of the sudden pain that shocked him so, when he saw the bee flying away from his arm with angry buzzes, leaving him with the puffy mark and ebbing hurt. After that he never wanted to be stung again. Ever.

But he wonders how such small but frightening bees—those _bees _that left wheedles on anyone, so that every child was warned against vexing them—could ever be so sweet, so valued—how he himself could feel how the honey put the hardworking insects in such a light...that was almost beautiful. The only thing he can understand is that they are wary, and always ready to defend themselves—because they don't want to be hurt.

Like demigods, he reflects as he wipes his hand on a towel. And perhaps, Artemis's Hunters even more so.

Zöe Nightshade—betrayed by Hercules, so Percy never saw him in any sort of admiration again.

He thinks of Thalia, in a sort of sudden appearance, remembering the cold, unreachable demigod who had sworn herself away from the company of men. With a second rush of heating anger, he thinks of the traitor Luke—did she ever have feelings for her old friend?—just as Annabeth had?—and still has?

Was he, Percy, not enough for them?

His lip tightens as he leans back against the cabin wall, in an attempt at calming himself. The stone wall is cooling, but he oddly still feels the prickling bit that nags at him—Luke, Luke, Luke—

His friend.

Former friend.

Who betrayed them all, in a moment of overwhelming anger, selfishly turning against Annabeth and Thalia. Selfish. Uncaring.

Percy squeezes his eyes shut. Am I jealous? he asks himself. Putting Luke in such a light—surely, Luke must have felt guilty.... But it was his resolve. He must have been hurting enough—but—but—

Percy lets out a long sigh, keeping his eyes closed, trying to see nothing but the dark pressing against his sight—but he cannot keep those eyes out of his mind...

Those blue eyes, eyes as endless as the sky, eyes as deep as the ocean. Cold, calculating, the glaze of a shield that cover the hurt that he assumes is buried deep, somewhere in her heart. Invisible, a thorn that is there.

Then, she swore herself into Artemis's arms, that shielded her from men. She did so with such absolute resolution—no more dead promises, no more teary nights, no more betrayal—right after meeting Luke.

Percy wiped his eyes, willing himself not to—as he suddenly finds himself—to cry, shed tears for her and her endless pain.

Is she all right?

She is like bees, Percy thinks, bitterly. She's so cold—but she probably hurts...so much. That's why she's the stoic person she is...to hold in that core of bitterness, so cold to protect herself—hiding her hurt with anger.

He reaches for the honey, finding the cold glass and upending it in the bowels of a bowl of hot water.

But she can be so kind, in her own way, probably, he thinks in continuation; she really is like bees.

Feeling the honey seep into the bowl, he rights it and puts it back on the floor.

He lifts the bowl to his lips, taking a long draught of the loosened honey. It runs, bubbles down his throat, free and sweet.

And suddenly, the thought comes to him:

How can I love her so?—when she is the coldest person, who even pushes me away.

Eyes unclose.

Choking on the thinned honey.

What is he thinking? A bolt of alarm flows through his veins. What possesses him to think such thoughts?

At the back of his head, a small voice whispers, Denial.


End file.
